I’ve tried so hard to hate you,
But every time I muster a mote of loathing
Or contrive the basest slander against your character,
My tongue ties into knots or I stumble;
And I know that for all my wishing,
I could never bring myself to defame you,
Though it would be so much easier if I could.
You would have me fixate on the profane
To prove you’re worthless
(Maybe you think it would be easier that way),
But my eyes have stripped away the horrors
Your acts of depression, revenge, or apathy have wrought.
That’s not who you are—
I refuse to believe that—
No matter what they tell you;
They’re dead wrong, but they wouldn’t know,
Because those who don’t look beyond flesh
Have no compassion for others.
You’re the kind of person I would die for,
But to be honest I’d much rather live for you,
Stand by your side to help you up when you misstep,
And you could do the same for me.
But since I sit here, deprived of your glory,
I wring my heart like a wet cloth
To squeeze a drip of hatred,
And always come up short.
It’s just that your sins are trivial in light of your grace,
And I couldn’t care less how high they stack;
They won’t matter when we’re dead, anyway.